Can't or Won't
by SandrinePenn
Summary: It's the difference between what we can't do and what we won't do.
1. Can't or Won't

"You're lying," House stated plainly, taking a sip from the soda in his left hand. The young girl in front of him feigned indignation, her mouth dropping open and her eyebrows shooting skyward.

"No, I'm not!" she cried, looking at her parents, both admonished.

"Our daughter would never..."

"No, it's a good thing," House said, smiling sweetly. "It means she doesn't have decreased mental capacity, which means no white matter defect, and, therein by, no cancer. However, it does mean that she's a liar. Sad, no?" Hanging the girls chart on the end of the bed, House limped out of her room and into the hallway where Wilson was waiting, hands on hips.

"She doesn't have cancer," House chirped, turning to his left and heading towards his office.

"I know," Wilson responded, striding to catch up. "She has multiple sclerosis." Stopping, House turned, his brow furrowed and mouth twisted.

"I beg to differ."

"You can differ all you want, she has MS."

"Okay." Wilson's face rose, his lips twitching.

"What?"

"I said 'okay'."

"I got that. What are you saying okay to?"

"Well, I talked to Carmen yesterday and she said that she'd leave Dave for me, so I'm saying okay to whatever you want."

"Oh, I see. Well, best of luck to you and Carmen. I'm going to tell Foreman to treat your patient for MS and then I'm going home," Wilson called over his shoulder, having turned and begun down the hallway in the same way he'd come. House smiled to himself.

"See you there."

HWHWHWHWHW

"I told her that she was ridiculous and went on with it," Wilson laughed, pressing his cell phone to his ear in an attempt to hear his sister better.

"Jimmy, when are you coming home? Mom misses you," Diana asked once she had stopped chuckling. Wilson's face dropped immediately.

"I don't know Di. Maybe around Hanukkah or the New Year, but probably not. I'm just so busy..."

"He's lying," House called from the living room, his gaze never leaving "The L Word", which was, as always, muted. Rolling his eyes, Wilson stepped into their bedroom and shut the door.

"I can't come home, Diana, you know that."

"No, James, what I know is that you won't come home. There's a difference."

"I have to go. House is getting restless."

"Fine, but you're not done talking about this. I love you," she said, before ending the call with a click. Sighing, Wilson pocketed his cell and returned to the living room where House was stroking his very exposed member. Flopping down next to House on the couch, Wilson groaned.

"Could you at least be a little more discrete about that?"

"You wanna do it for me?" House asked, allowing his head to fall back and his eyes slip shut. Shrugging, Wilson nodded.

"Sure, why not," he mumbled, as he bent at the waist and slipped his lips onto the head of House's erection. Moaning, House released his grip and entwined his now free hand in the soft hair at the nape of Wilson's neck.

"This works too," he whispered, biting his lower lip as Wilson's continued to lick, suck, and trace patterns with his tongue. Bucking his hips involuntarily, House choked back what could only be described as a growl and slid his hand down the plane of Wilson's back to cup his ass.

Wrapping his hand around the slick skin of House's shaft, Wilson slowly began to twist his fist up and down, eliciting more animal like sounds from his partner above. Pulling his kiss from House's hardened flesh, Wilson wiggled up and straddled House, leaning most of his weight on his knees before pressing his lips to House's.

"I liked what you were just doing better," House grumbled, resting his hands on Wilson's hips. Kissing a trail across House's jaw and down his neck, sucking softly and inevitably leaving yet another rouge hicky, Wilson began to unbutton House's striped oxford as House's fingers made quick work of Wilson's belt and slack buttons.

"Bed. Now," Wilson commanded, grabbing House by the neck of his undershirt and tugging them towards the bedroom, still subconsciously mindful enough of their physical states to support House's weight discretely.

Collapsing on their bed, both of them now significantly less clothed and more aroused than ten minutes ago, House and Wilson groped around in the dark for a long moment, nails raking, lips sucking and flesh heating. Placing a hand full palm on House's lower back, Wilson pushed him down onto his stomach before reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving both lube and a condom. Fumbling around, Wilson tore the wrapper open and slipped the condom on before squeezing a dollop of lube onto his fingers and straddling House again.

Placing a hand on House's waist, Wilson pushed one finger into his lover, listening as House hissed in pain and pleasure. Twisting his finger slowly, Wilson began to gently ease his partner into looseness.

"Stop messing around," House managed to gasp as Wilson inserted a second finger. Scissoring the two digits apart, Wilson settled down on House and thrusted in, removing his fingers and placing his hands on either side of House to support his weight.

Adopting a rather frantic rhythm, it was almost not time before Wilson was crying out House's name against his smooth back, the sound of their colliding skin reverberating through the apartment. Wedging his hand in between the mattress and House's tight stomach, Wilson wrapped his fist around House's cock and began to pump his fist in time with his thrusts, the entrapment of the two men's weight pressing down on his hand.

Listening to Wilson's ragged breathing, House found himself, if possible, more aroused than he'd been earlier. Unable to tell if the pressure in his abdomen was an impending orgasm or a crush injury from the combination of Wilson fist and weight, House dug his fingers into the sheets and cried out against the pillow his head was resting on.

"Oh God, Greg!" Wilson gasped as he came, collapsing on top of House. Still squeezing his fist up and down House's erection, Wilson placed a wet kiss to House's neck as he felt his lover's orgasm spill onto his hand and squish into the bed. Untwining their bodies, Wilson rolled onto his side, removing the condom and dropping it on the floor next to the bed.

Grabbing his pill bottle from the bedside table, knocked over by Wilson's hasty abandonment of the lube, House downed a Vicodin and turned onto his back, unable to ignore Wilson's sniffling.

"Alright, I give up. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Let's leave the lying to me, Wonder Boy."

"It's really nothing," Wilson spat irritably, switching sides so that his back was to House. Sighing, House turned his head to the side and watched as the moon played songs on Wilson's creamy skin. Enraptured by the sight, House extended a hand and trailed his fingers along Wilson's spine, grinning as the younger man shivered.

"Jimmy..."

"I love you," Wilson said, rolling back over, his cheeks slightly tear stained. House furrowed his brow.

"Goodnight," House responded, closing his eyes. After thirty second, he reopened one eye to find Wilson still staring at him.

"I mean it."

"This is a nightmare... that's why I can only open one eye," House mused seemingly to himself. Wilson sighed, before reaching out and twisting House's nipple. "Jesus Christ!" he yelped.

"Nope, not a nightmare."

House rubbed his chest indignantly. "You're violent. I'm not sure we can be together anymore. I just can't take the abuse."

"Greg," Wilson said, his voice softening. "I love you."

Staring at Wilson, his eyes wide with sincerity and promise, House suddenly realized why people thanked Wilson when he told them they were dying: he looked like he loved you, like he cared. Sighing again, House reached out and placed a gentle hand on Wilson's face, his partner's eyes narrowing in confusion at the uncharacteristic show of affection.

"I know you do Jimmy. But I can't love you. You know that."

You can't love me, or you won't?"

Nodding sadly, House removed his hand from Wilson's face and turned onto his side, before falling into a restless sleep.

The next morning, the only sign that anyone but House had been in his apartment in the last nine months was a haunting whisper drenched in whiskey and a single, white piece of paper.

"You made your choice. I made mine."


	2. Loss

"Are you okay?" Cameron asked as House slammed around his office with no obvious purpose.

"Go away," he growled, giving up his crashing and sitting down heavily. Cameron nodded tersely before leaving the office in a huff. "Why can't everyone just mind their own god damned business?" House groaned loudly, running his hand over his face.

"I've been asking myself that same question for years," Wilson responded, having suddenly appeared in the office. Jumping, House made eye contact with his ex lover.

"How was Boston?" House asked, his voice dripping in bitterness. Wilson sighed and shrugged.

"As to be expected. My family was doting and condescending all at the same time. They send their love."

"You didn't tell them?"

Hardly," Wilson snorted, prying his gaze from House's, having taken a sudden great interest in the wall fixtures. "My sisters love you, why mess things up?"

"Your family hates me, especially your sisters."

"Well, I didn't want to break your heart."

"Obviously."

The silence strummed in the air, throbbing against House's ears and mind.

"Why are you here again?" he asked, unconsciously rubbing his thigh.

"What, we can't be friends now? Don't be silly..."

"Oh, we were never friends!" House spat, whipping his head around. "We were never, ever friends. You tolerated me, I tolerated you and in the end, we spent nine months pretending like that toleration could be something more. We have nothing to save, Jim, because there was nothing there in the first place!"

"Do you actually believe that or are you just lying to yourself to make you feel better?"

"I don't lie."

"Everybody lies," Wilson responded, his resolve finally shattering. "I love you and that freaks you out, so you lie to me, try and break me before I can break you. Well, guess what? It isn't going to work. I will always love you, I always have, and nothing is going to change, no matter how much of a prick you try to be."

"I'm not trying, Wonder Boy. I actually am."

"Whatever you say, House. Whatever," Wilson said, his face contorted into a grimace. "I hope that you can live with this."

"Melodrama! Nice touch," House called after Wilson's retreating form as he stormed out of the office and down the hallway, nearly cold cocking Cuddy with the door on the way out. Watching Wilson retreat, her face creased with confusion, Cuddy pushed in House's office.

"What just happened?"

"I stole his lunch money, duh."

"Of course. Now, what really happened?" House sat, unanswering for a long moment, before flicking his eyes up to meet Cuddy's.

"It is nothing," he enunciated, twirling in his chair.

"Oh sure, that's why you're both moping around, avoiding people, and patients. Not that any one of those things is uncommon for you..."

"I broke his heart, okay? I broke his heart because I told him that I couldn't love him back and that we couldn't be together anymore. I'm the bad guy, Cuddy; is that what you wanted to hear?"

"How do you manage to do this with every relationship you have?" Cuddy asked testily. Slamming his cane against the desk, causing Cuddy to jump, House stood up.

"Fucking once in college hardly makes you an expert on my relationships." Blushing, Cuddy opened her mouth to speak, before thinking better of it and raising her hands in defeat.

"Don't mess up the one good thing that you had going for you," she said, before leaving the office, presumably to go have the same conversation with Wilson. Breathing heavily, House grabbed his bag and hobbled out into the hallway, clearing the doorway just as Foreman passed him.

"Where're you going?" he asked, planting himself in front of House's escape route.

"Home."

"You just got here!"

"Don't remind me. Now move, before I move you." Rolling his eyes, Foreman stepped aside and allowed House to pass, watching him down the hallway until he boarded the elevator and disappeared from sight.

HWHWHWHWHWHW

"Really, Lisa, it's no big deal," Wilson insisted for the third time in ten minutes.

"So you mean he was just being glib when he said he broke your heart?" Wilson felt embarrassment tinge his cheeks and ears.

"He said that?"

"Do you seriously think I could make something like that up?"

"At least he knows it."

"Aha! So it's true."

"That's not a eureka moment to be proud of, really." Cuddy bit her lip, realizing that, of course, he was right.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I just... I'm having a hard time visualizing the situation in its entirety."

"What's to envision? We lived and slept together for nine months, I said the L word, and he freaked out. I don't see what part of this isn't my fault."

"Denial isn't your best color."

"Be that as it may, there's really nothing I can do beyond what I did. We both know Greg House well enough to know that if he wants something, he'll get it, no matter what it takes. The nonchalance with which he handled the whole matter spoke volumes, so to speak."

"You've been rehearsing this speech, haven't you?"

"Bet your ass." Cuddy smiled slightly.

"Well, I'm here if you, uh, need to talk," she stated, the offer sounding uncomfortable even as she made it. Wilson nodded.

"It's unlikely that I'll ever want to think about it again."

"You won't want to but you will."

"Yeah," Wilson responded, resting his chin on his closed fist. Looking up at Cuddy without moving his head, he smiled. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said, patting the doorframe she'd been leaning against. "I'll be around."

"Okay." No sooner had Cuddy left the room than did the law firm of Foreman, Cameron and Chase osmosis themselves into Wilson's space.

"Dr. Wilson, what's wrong with House?" Cameron asked timidly. Being the only one of the three with perfect breasts, Cameron had been elected to speak to Wilson, the other's hoping his penchant for womanizing would be fed by her low cut blouse and therein by ease the tension.

"He's got a bum leg," Wilson said, his gaze unmoving from the poster on the wall over Chase's head.

"He went home," Foreman interjected, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"And this is surprising, why?"

"It's early even for him, especially since he only got here twenty minutes ago," Chase added.

"What makes you think I would know anything about it?" Wilson snapped, swinging his gaze to the three young doctors in front of him. Slightly taken aback, they exchanged glances.

"Well, we just assumed..."

"You know what they say about assuming, Dr. Cameron. I don't know what's wrong with House and you have grand rounds. Go do your jobs." Shuffling out, Cameron and Chase reluctantly obeyed. Foreman, however, wasn't so easily persuaded.

"I know you know something," he said, stepping into Wilson's aura. "You have to."

"Drop it."

"No way. If he's not here, we're in a sort of a jam. I mean, not that we can't do our jobs without him..."

"Then go do your job like the other two."

"Dammit, Wilson, what's going on? Are you sleeping together? I don't care if you are!" Foreman added quickly seeing Wilson's body tense.

"We were."

"So you broke up?"

"We were never together."

Foreman stood thinking for a long moment, before nodding, as if to say he was satisfied, and left. Spinning his chair, Wilson stared out the window, his mind strumming.

"You can save yourself James. Learn how to lie. Learn how to not feel. Learn how to be him," Wilson thought aloud.

When the autopsy report came back, the cause of Wilson's suicide was an overdose. 35 Vicodin pills from an empty orange bottle prescribed to House, Gregory.

Finally the same.


	3. Destruction

"Greg, you have to come in. You're getting soaked," Blythe pleaded from under the protection of her umbrella. Shaking his head apathetically just as he had the first one hundred and fifty times she'd asked him, House remained standing in front of Wilson's newly dug grave.

"Come on honey. It's no use," John whispered, pulling Blythe back inside by her shoulders.

The rain falling was archetypically perfect: sheets of heavy, pounding water cut into slices by jagged lightening only to fall to the ground with astonishing speed. Drenched to the bone, House felt nothing besides completely indescribable pain. It was as though his entire body was suffering the agony normally localized in his thigh in response to the maudlin events of the day. Leaning heavily on his cane, a nearly pointless action as it sunk into the muddied ground, House allowed his eyes for the first time to leave the dead space in front of him and focus on the freshly overturned dirt.

"You bastard," he whispered, before turning and walking back inside, where hundreds of faces, familiar and unfamiliar alike, all bore the same expression: complete pity. Biting his lip to keep from decapitating the entire room instantly, House hobbled into a corner, hoping to melt into the woodwork. However, the squish made by his shoes, squeal by his cane, and steady drip of his clothing made him anything but unobvious as he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and fumbling in his pocket for his Vicodin. Tugging the ever present bottle from its watery confines, House was suddenly struck with the irony of what he was about to do. The bottle tumbled from his hand and hit the floor, the top exploding off and the white pills scattering everywhere. Silence fell over the room and stares turned to House as if to ask "Well, what now?"

Stacy knew what was coming, even if no one else did, including House. Running across the room, slipping slightly on the water House had tracked in, she reached him just as he began to cry. Deep, broken sobs racked his chest as she wrapped her arms around his waist and slid down onto the floor, holding him as he wailed. The crowd milled around uncomfortably before Mrs. Wilson, tears streaming down her face, ushered them into the next room, leaving only Chase, Foreman, Cameron, and Cuddy alone in the room.

"Oh God," House cried against Stacy's chest, unable to stop his pitiful show of grief. Curling his fingers around Stacy's forearms, he continued to sob, his agony washing over the others in the room.

Cameron had latched onto Chase, tears rolling as he stroked her back silently. Foreman had draped an arm around Cuddy, unsure of what to do when she had started crying.

"Come on," Foreman whispered softly, guiding the others out, leaving Stacy and House alone.

"Greg," she started, only to be interrupted by more sobs. "God Greg, this isn't your fault." Allowing his chin to raise, House shook his head 'yes'. "He was depressed, Greg. This has nothing to do with you." Stacy knew that attempting to assuage his guilt was completely useless. What's more, she wasn't entirely sure she believed what she was saying.

"He's... how could he... dammit!" House growled, suddenly angry. Slamming his fist against the wall, he wiped his eyes and stood up with Stacy's help.

"Greg, calm do..." Stacy started, her pleas cut off by the smack of House's hand across her porcelain cheek. Touching her heated flesh gently, Stacy bit her lip.

"You bastard, I'll kill you," Mark roared. Stacy wheeled around as he crossed the room, raising her hand.

"No, Mark, it's okay. Just go," she said hurriedly, planting herself in between the two men.

"I will not..."

"Go!" Breathing heavily, Mark spun on his heel and returned to the other room. Turning back to House, Stacy could no longer hold back the tears.

"I miss him too, Greg, I really do and I can't imagine what you're going through, but you can't blame this on yourself. You'll never be able to live if you do."

"There's a reason why guilt kills," he stated plainly, his voice still thick with emotion. Placing a gentle hand on House's cheek, Stacy smiled sadly.

"Oh Greg... you can't self destruct now, not after all this time. What would Jimmy say?"

Staring at Stacy, his tears mingling with the water still dripping from his hair, House nodded, resolved to his own grief.

"He'd probably say something along the lines of 'your morosity is impending on your duties as a physician. You have to feel what your patients are feeling!'" Stacy smiled.

"Something like that."

"I loved him."

"I know."

"Did he?"

Stacy mouthed wordlessly, before sighing.

"I think so." House nodded.

"I need to go talk to his family," he said, before walking away, leaving Stacy standing alone, now thoroughly soaked.

It was Cameron who found him. Lying on the floor of his office, still dressed in his clothes from the funeral, House's eyes were closed, his leg bent in an odd direction, implying he had fallen. Screaming out in terror and disgust, Cameron had wretched and taken off down the hall to Cuddy's office. The coroner said that he died of a massive stroke, but the rest of the team knew the truth.

Gregory House died of a broken heart.


End file.
